help me hold onto you
by liviafan1
Summary: Her hands are trembling now, but she pulls it together enough to wipe her mouth and clamber to her feet. But as she reaches for a towel, she sees his tattered suit hanging on the back of the door with her dress and — it breaks her. A one-shot fix-it story for the end of Season 4. Complete.


_Spoilers for the new season of Veronica Mars._

_Veronica's POV (and the story title) is loosely inspired by lyrics from Taylor Swift's "The Archer."_

* * *

He's fine.

She's fine.

And yet somehow they're both sitting in the wing of a hospital on their wedding night, waiting for the doctor to clear them to go home.

Well, _he's _waiting. His wife is off harassing the staff.

She hasn't left his side for the last two hours, but her nervous energy was practically spilling out of her, so he swept a kiss across her forehead — minding her small scrapes from the window glass — in permission to leave him and do whatever it was she needed to do to be okay.

He wasn't going anywhere (except maybe to an appointment with his therapist after he and Veronica come back from their honeymoon).

He thinks she finally grasped that after his _third_ reassurance to her.

A heavy hand settles on his shoulder. He looks up to find the weary eyes of his father-in-law staring down at him.

"She's fine," Logan rushes out. "I swear, she's - "

Keith shakes his head, cutting Logan off as he settles down into a chair. "I know she's fine. I just pried her off a nurse, told her to channel her energy into finding me a decent cup of coffee around this place."

Logan chokes out a laugh. That's his girl. "Did it work?"

"For now." Keith shrugs. "You okay?"

Logan sighs, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. "I will be."

"You sure about that? The look in my daughter's eyes…" Keith trails off. "It's haunted."

Logan nods. "Yeah. She thought I…" But he can't even finish it. The words roll around like sandpaper in his mouth, and he has to swallow them down.

He owes the man sitting across from him his life. Literally.

Logan was just about to slide into Veronica's car to move it when his phone went off. It was Keith, who despite their easy relationship these days, rarely called unless it was an emergency.

His father-in-law shouted over the line, urgent and alarmed. Logan's heart hurtled into his stomach and he could only make out five words in all the panic and confusion.

_Backpack. Another bomb._

And then —

_Veronica's car. _

With no clue how much time they'd have until it went off, Logan had raced away from the explosion site to warn Veronica, clumsily tripping up the stairs in all his haste — a rookie move he never would've made in the field. The explosion rocked the street just as he made it a few steps away from their front door.

He can still taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth from where he bit his tongue, can still hear the ear-splitting echo of the car alarm in his ear.

He's got his own set of scrapes and bruises and his knees hurt like a bitch from the impact of where he hit hit the stairs, but otherwise —

He's so fucking lucky.

"So much for that honeymoon, huh?" Keith asks, breaking Logan out of his reverie.

Logan grimaces. "I'm hoping I can convince her to hop in a rental car with me tomorrow and head to Sedona, anyway." He rubs the back of his neck, easing a knot he finds there. "Assuming she doesn't get arrested for murdering Penn in police custody before then."

"Don't let Veronica see that optimism. She'll beat it right out of you."

Logan chuckles, rolling his eyes. "Don't I know it."

"Know what?" Veronica interjects, breezing through the door with a cheap cup of coffee in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

"What an absolute _vision_ my blushing bride is this evening," Logan teases.

Veronica rolls her eyes. Her hair is disheveled, more than half out of the ponytail she sported at their wedding ceremony. Her dress is grimy, probably completely ruined. He tried to convince her to change before they were escorted to the hospital — looking too much like a walking widow for his comfort — but she refused. He's only ever seen her as willing to set foot in a hospital once before, and that was the day of her father's car accident.

She looks perfect in anything, but the reminder of what almost happened sends his stomach roiling.

He just wants to go home, take a long hot shower, press her up against the wall, and reaffirm life —

All night long.

Although their bedroom is currently littered with shattered glass and shrapnel, so he'll have to settle for springing for a suite at the Neptune Grand. Just like old times.

"The nurse will be here in five minutes," she says with a triumphant smile, handing the coffee off to her dad. He lifts it in gratitude.

"You mean she's still breathing?" Logan asks.

Veronica takes a long sip of water before passing the bottle to Logan. "Ask me again in 4 minutes and 50 seconds," she snarks.

"My girl," Logan murmurs in admiration.

"You'd think a close call with a bomb would set these people springing into action, but clearly, I'm asking for a little too much here. Typical Neptune," she says.

"Did you tell them that Logan's basically a naval hero and the United States government will be very upset if anything happens to him?" Keith chimes in.

"Okay, I'm not — " Logan starts, but the older man waves him off.

Veronica scoffs. "Please, Pops, this isn't amateur hour. I told two nurses, the receptionist, three doctors, and very seriously considered calling a cab so I could go home and get his uniform."

Logan laughs incredulously. "_Veronica_ —"

"Okay, I _didn't_, but what's the point in being a _naval intelligence officer_ if we can't use it to our advantage every now and again?"

Logan lifts a finger. "Gee, you mean, kind of like breaking government regulations and risking a court martial to get you the name and information of Congressman Maloof's blackmailer?"

Veronica gives him a look. "Yeah, yeah. Point taken." She turns to her father. "You're cool if we crash with you tonight? Or until the place is fixed?"

"If that's what you and Logan want." Keith's knowing eyes linger on Logan's. _You're up, kid._

"Veronica…" Logan trails off, hesitant. He knows this isn't going to go smoothly. "I was thinking we can get a room at the Neptune Grand tonight. Take off for Sedona in the morning in a rental."

Veronica frowns. "You still want to go?"

Ouch.

He grits his teeth. "You don't?"

Veronica bites her lip — her negotiating face.

"You know, I think I'll just go see if the nurse is on her way. Give you kids a minute," Keith says carefully, easing out of his seat.

"Dad, you don't have to lea —"

"I'll be right back, Veronica."

She sighs, waiting until her father is out of earshot before she turns back to him. "Logan, I think we should consider staying home."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Well, he knew this was coming. "Veronica —"

"We can go in a few months, you know?" She sidles closer, a little seductive. He recognizes this game. "And this week, we can have like a fun little staycation." Her lips twist into a sly grin as her hands come to his chest, sliding up to rest on his shoulders, "I'll wear that little bikini that you like —"

No, he's not doing this.

"Let me finish this for you, okay?" he chuckles humorlessly, removing her hands from his shoulders. "Let's see if I can get the Veronica playbook right, here."

Then, like a switch, Veronica's little act is gone.

She folds her arms across her chest, jaw set. "All right, you've got me all figured out? Enlighten me."

"The thought of leaving Neptune kills you because it means you won't have a chance to sit across from Penn Epner and threaten to have him shivved in the prison yard after he's convicted. Am I getting warmer here?"

"Oh, cuss you." The venom laced in her voice makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he can't stop pushing her. She has to see.

"What bullshit reason will it be this time, Veronica? We shouldn't go because of Pony? Your dad? Because we almost died —"

"Not _we_, Logan. _You. You _almost died," her voice catches on the last syllable and it slices through him, exposing his heart.

"You're scared and you're angry, and I am, too." He swallows hard. "But we almost lost — " But he can't. Can't finish it.

"I know," she chokes out, tears trailing down her face.

He snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her into the vee of his legs. She doesn't fight him.

He sighs. "Remember that thing I said about Neptune ranking above Fallujah?"

"Yeah," she rasps.

His forehead falls to rest against hers. "I take it back."

She smiles wanly. "Welcome to the dark side."

His hands card through the fallen ends of her hair, his thumbs sweeping across the apple of her flushed cheeks. "I just need a few days," he promises. "Seven tops."

She lets out a shaky laugh. "Okay."

He wraps her in a hug and she nuzzles into him. "But you have to be the one to tell Pony," she says, muffled into his neck.

He groans. "Damn it."

* * *

Veronica jerks awake in a cold sweat, gasping as the heat of her nightmares flames her face. Her eyes adjust to the dark as she tries to focus on something, anything, to ground her. She barely recognizes her hands, white-knuckled, clenching the 800-thread count sheets in a death grip. Nausea rolls through her body, tumbling along to the thunderous beat of her heart.

She tries to slow her breathing, take a deep breath, but it stutters through her chest, stalling.

_You're fine_, she tells herself.

But more importantly -

_He's fine._

Her husband — will she ever get used to that word? — sleeps soundly beside her, sheets twisted around his hips. She looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and takes in the rise and fall of his chest.

She expels a long, slow breath.

_Get a grip, Veronica._

Easier said than done.

She's barely gotten any sleep and it's already nearly 4:30 a.m. Between the hospital, picking up the rental car, and stopping for a quick bite, it was already so late by the time they'd checked into the Neptune Grand.

That didn't account for the two (and a half) rounds of toe-curling, life-affirming sex they'd had before they'd gone to sleep.

And despite the close call yesterday, she's almost certain Logan will still wake up within the hour, thanks to his military conditioning.

Ugh, there's no way she'll be able to sleep while he's awake, but god, she's so _tired._

With one last lingering look to make sure he's still breathing, Veronica slides out of bed and gracelessly stumbles into the bathroom. If she's going to be a walking zombie for the rest of the day, she's at least going to be clean.

She plucks at her shirt, which is plastered to her chest with sweat. Gross.

Clean _and_ dry.

She cringes as she stares back at her reflection in the mirror. She looks pale and a little sickly. Her eyes are dull, and the tiny cuts on her face from the window glass shattering are more prominent than ever.

Fuck, she's going to be sick.

She has the forethought to close the door quickly so she doesn't disturb him, but then she's clattering to her knees as she leans over the toilet and empties her stomach.

_Pull it together, Veronica. _

_You're fine._

Deep breath. But she can't, she's heaving, heaving —

_He's fine._

Her hands are trembling now, but she pulls it together enough to wipe her mouth and clamber to her feet. But as she reaches for a towel, she sees his tattered suit hanging on the back of the door with her dress and —

It breaks her.

She claps a hand over her mouth and flips the bathtub faucet on to mask the sound of her sobs.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Veronica is curled up into a chair on the balcony in a pair of clean sleep shorts and a sweatshirt of his that she stole because it swallows her and still smells like him.

She's fried, completely wiped, and can't imagine making a 7-hour trip feeling the way she does. But she doesn't want to tell him, doesn't want to fight with him again like she did yesterday.

And it's not like he was wrong yesterday, either. Every word he said was true, even if she didn't want to admit it to him —

Or herself.

She left the balcony door open to the room so Logan would know where she was when he woke. She hears him stir, sleepily shuffle off to the coffee pot. She would murder for a cup right about now, but she's too content to move.

But sure enough, minutes later, she hears the distinct sound of ceramic settling atop the table behind her just before a pair of strong and familiar arms wrap around her.

"Good morning, my love," he murmurs against her cheek. She smiles into his shoulder as he slides his arms under her to lift her out of the chair in a bridal carry. He steals her seat, settling her in his lap.

"You stole my chair," she grumbles, nuzzling into his neck.

"You complaining?"

She grunts in response.

He chuckles, low and throaty in her ear. The most delicious goosebumps crawl down her arms. "It's early for you. What time did you wake up?"

She shrugs. "An hour ago?"

"Bad dream?"

She doesn't answer.

His eyes flicker, concerned. "Veronica?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "Bad dream."

He lifts an eyebrow. "You wanna expand on that?"

She sighs. "Not really, no."

He doesn't react, but she can tell that he's not happy with her answer. He's always pushing her to open up, and she's always failing him.

_Pony up, Veronica._

"I can't stop thinking about what would've happened if my dad hadn't called you." His calloused hands clutch her tighter against him in response. "I'd be burying you right now, Logan."

He kisses her forehead, sighing. "I know."

"I don't know that I could survive something like that, and that's _terrifying_ to me."

_I would be sticking my head in the oven because the two most important people in my life would be gone. _

That's what she said to him just days ago when he asked her what she would do if he and Keith were gone. And she knows it's true —

She wouldn't survive it. Not the way she is right now.

Veronica bites her lip. "You keep asking me to get my head shrunk, but do you know why I keep saying no?"

He pats the pocket of his t-shirt. "I don't have the list on me," he teases, and she chuckles in spite of it because it's exactly what she needs right now. She smacks his chest lightly and he lifts her fingers to his mouth, kissing them.

"Logan, what if I'm the exception?"

He cocks his head, confused. "What if you're the exception to...therapy?"

"Yes. I've been so screwed up for so long. What if I _can't_ be fixed?"

"Veronica, first of all, you're not _screwed up_. It's how you've been conditioned, how you've coped. Honestly? I think it's kind of incredible that you've made it even to this point when the odds have been stacked against you for so long."

She frowns. "But I'm not healthy."

"Not always, but neither am I. It's a process, not a constant state of being. No one is 'healthy,' whatever that even means, 100 percent of the time." He pauses. "So much of what I do with Jane is relearning behaviors and trying to train my thoughts. But I'm not changing the core of who I am."

"Logan — "

"Don't you think it's exhausting to have yourself as your number one enemy? Constantly working against you. Never changing?" he asks.

She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

He leans down into her, nudging his nose against hers. God, she never feels like she deserves him. "Didn't they teach you in that fancy school of yours that therapy isn't a weakness, Veronica Mars?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "I'm starting to think maybe I didn't pay much attention in school."

"Lucky for you, it's never too late to start learning."

She makes a face. "God, am I going to start sounding like this Oprah/Dalai Lama amalgamation if I go?"

He grins. "Are you serious?"

She presses a palm to his cheek and the sparkle in his eyes warms her insides. "Yeah."

His mouth crashes down onto hers and she hums against his lips, starved for it. "But I want my own shrink, okay? So ask your BFF Jane if she's got any good recommendations."

He laughs. "Anything for you."

"Speaking of, Mr. Mars," he rolls his eyes, "did I hear the very distinct sounds of coffee just before you walked out here?"

"You did. But it's decaf." He winces. "We're out of regular."

She groans. "Why do bad things happen to good people?"

"I'm going to take a wild guess here based on the melodrama — "

"And the nightmares — "

"And the nightmares, that you didn't sleep very well last night?"

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Boy, nothing gets by you, Echolls."

His lips twitch in amusement. "All right, sassmouth. How about a nap? Sedona can wait."

"Only if you'll join me."

"Oh, I think I can be persuaded," he murmurs against her mouth.


End file.
